


that's my man

by justadreamfox



Series: Take My Hand [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: CW: pot/edibles, CW: reference to chronic pain, Cats, Cooking, Grad School AU, Karaoke, M/M, POV Neil Josten, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, zero angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justadreamfox/pseuds/justadreamfox
Summary: What could possibly ruin a perfect birthday spent snuggling your boyfriend, petting your cat, and cooking food for your best friends?A karaoke machine, that's what.In which Neil Josten cannot sing for shit, but it doesn't ruin his birthday, not at all, not even a little bit.
Relationships: Kevin Day/Jeremy Knox, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: Take My Hand [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089800
Comments: 18
Kudos: 306





	that's my man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likearecord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likearecord/gifts).



> Happiest of happy birthdays to Mandi! 
> 
> You are the Renee to my Andrew, the squirrel to my hoodie pocket, and I am so grateful for you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this bit of birthday fluff - it was stuffed full of some of your favorite things, sprinkled with love, and baked at 350 with care <3
> 
> This fic takes place about a year and some change after [wreck my plans](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28528137/) by [willow_bird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willow_bird/works/)

Neil stretched, long and lazy and without opening his eyes, pushing his arms up under his pillow and pointing his toes. He thought about rolling over, but the purring ball curled up between his shoulder blades had other ideas. Iggy _mrowed_ softly at his stretches and started kneading him though his t-shirt, sharp little claws just pricking his skin with each push of his paws. 

“Fine,” Neil mumbled, and stretched a hand along the bed next to him. He frowned a little when all he encountered were soft cotton sheets, not even still warm from a body. Neil blinked one eye open to confirm that the spot in the bed next to him was surprisingly, entirely, empty. He squinted up at the wall clock, the numbers shaping themselves up to cheerily announce that it was 7am. 

Definitely too early to be missing an Andrew. 

_Mrwa?_ Iggy mumbled when Neil rolled over finally, carefully catching him as he tumbled off the side of Neil’s back. (Iggy was not the most graceful of cats.) Neil pushed himself upright against the headboard and cataloged the empty room as Iggy settled into his lap with a feline _harumph._

No Andrew. 

A trickle of concern nudged at the back of Neil’s neck - nothing short of a zombie apocalypse or a medical emergency requiring an ambulance would roust Andrew from bed before 9am on a Sunday. He should know, he’d tried. 

Neil was just about to dislodge Iggy for a second time to go hunting for his lost boyfriend, when the bedroom door swung open. Margot trotted in and jumped on the bed as Andrew’s (really great) ass and epic bedhead entered the room first before he turned, an overloaded tray in hand and a look of concentration on his face. Andrew’s concentration face consisted of a slight furrow of his brow, the tip of his tongue pushed out the side of his mouth, and it never failed to put a flutter in Neil’s stomach. 

“Morning,” Neil said, surveying the production happening in front of him. Andrew said not a word until he made it to the side of the bed and settled the footed tray right in the middle next to Neil, batting a curious Margot away in the process. 

“Happy Birthday,” Andrew said when he finally put his tongue back in his mouth and looked up. Neil leaned over the tray, which was covered with a cloth, and grinned at Andrew expectantly. 

“Morning breath,” Andrew muttered, but he was looking at Neil’s lips. 

“Ffffppptppt,” Neil countered, rolling his eyes. “It’s my birthday and you love me.” 

“You aren’t wrong,” Andrew agreed, kissing him, and Neil hummed happily. 

Too bad there was like, adulting to do and a dissertation to write, because he’d happily spend all the minutes of all his days lip-locked with Andrew - morning breath or not. Andrew kept one hand on the tray to steady it, but the other ended up curled under Neil’s jaw, his fingers tucking behind Neil’s ear, Andrew’s mouth soft and warm and insistent. 

Pulling away was a Herculean feat, but Neil desperately wanted to see what was on the tray. Andrew sat back on his heels, giving Neil’s hair a gentle tug before letting him go and pulling off the cloth with a flourish. 

Neil blinked. Blinked again. He started laughing. “Are you going to throw them at me?” 

Andrew smirked. “Not if you behave.” 

“Oh well, now you are just setting me up for failure,” Neil said with a wide smile. He grabbed one of the chocolate muffins piled in the center of the tray and sniffed it. “Did you make these?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes I did, asshole,” Andrew said, snatching the muffin out of Neil’s hand and taking a huge bite out of the top before handing it back. It took him quite a while to chew, and Neil raised an eyebrow in amusement watching him. When he finally finished, he picked up one of the cups of coffee from the tray and took a hearty swallow. 

“Dry?” Neil asked, amused.

“A little,” Andrew said, frowning at the basket of muffins. “I followed your recipe.” 

Neil smiled fondly and shoved half of the remaining muffin into his mouth, had a brief moment of regret when he realized just how dry it was, but then - because Andrew _made_ these for him - he shoved the other half in his mouth too, chewing defiantly. 

“You look like a chipmunk,” Andrew scoffed. 

“Delicious,” Neil proclaimed when he was finally able to swallow. Andrew picked up another muffin and poked it. Neil snagged it from him and took another bite. 

“You don’t have to eat them,” Andrew said. 

“Why wouldn’t I want to eat your muffins?” Neil asked innocently around the mouthful. 

Andrew rolled his eyes. “You are incredibly bad at innuendos.” 

“Is it an innuendo if I am literally eating your muffins?” 

“Not a good enough reason to use the word ‘literally’,” Andrew grumbled. 

Neil shrugged. He settled back against the headboard with his coffee and gazed at Andrew, cataloging all the bits that came together to make his face - his small nose (that he hated, but that Neil adored), his sharp jaw dusted with stubble, his eyes that sometimes looked like amber, sometimes like toffee, depending on the light. His hair too - messy blond and a work of art: the back swirled from his pillow, the curls on top twirled into bird’s nests from Neil’s needy fingers last night. His grey t-shirt was old and worn and a bit oversized, his plaid pajama pants were navy blue flannel and soft, and he hadn’t put his armbands on yet. 

Neil loved all of it, but his favorite bit of lazy morning Andrew were the glasses: oversized tortoise shell frames that slid down his nose constantly, causing Andrew to reach up absently to shove them back on his face every five minutes instead of just buying a pair that actually fit. 

During the day Andrew wore contacts, his clothes were fitted and black, his hair was artfully and purposefully arranged just the right side of disheveled. 

But _this_ Andrew - soft and open and rumpled - belonged to Neil alone.

“Staring,” Andrew said. 

“Yeah,” Neil agreed, and he set his coffee down, dislodged Iggy, and crawled around the breakfast tray to push Andrew flat and straddle him. 

“The muffins weren’t _that_ good,” Andrew said, running his hands up Neil’s sides. 

Neil pulled the glasses off Andrew’s face and set them aside. “No, they weren’t,” he agreed, and then he kissed his beautiful boyfriend senseless. 

***

After kisses, they drank more coffee and snuggled their furry people-weights and Neil didn’t want to move - but he also didn't want to be antsy for the rest of the day, so. He dragged himself out from under the warmth to the protests of one boyfriend and two cats to get dressed in his running clothes, stealing a coffee flavored kiss and one of Andrew’s hoodies on the way out the bedroom, and snorting when Andrew said he was just gonna take a little nap. 

Margot and Iggy followed him to the kitchen, tails high, and Neil pulled down two tins of the fancy food. They both had kibble out all day, but mornings meant Salmon Surprise or Turkey Delight, and the sly menaces knew to hold out for the good stuff until Neil was on his way past the kitchen for his morning run. 

The cats settled down to nom happily, and Neil paused over the trash can with the empty tins in hand, both eyebrows shooting up to his bandana. 

The trashcan was a muffin graveyard - there were at least thirty muffins in various states of distress. Neil picked one up that resembled a hockey puck and wondered if Andrew had forgotten the baking powder or the egg (or both). Andrew must have gotten up at 5am to go through this many batches to get it - _somewhat_ \- right. Maybe Neil should tell him that he still had to sift the flour before measuring it out, even if it did say pre-sifted on the bag. He’s pretty sure that’s why the final product had come out _a tad_ dry. 

Or maybe he’d keep his mouth shut and eat whatever Andrew wanted to make him on his next birthday. 

Neil’s next birthday. 

There’d been a time when he’d not been sure he’d reach his next birthday, much less be standing in a warm kitchen with two happy cats, in a house he now shared with Andrew, feeling secure in the fact that Andrew would still be here with him - would still be _his_ \- on his next birthday. 

It was a wondrous feeling. 

It was brisk and cool but sunny out, and Neil ran six slow miles before coming to a stop back in their driveway and stretching out. When Neil came in, Andrew was sitting at the kitchen counter, and he pointed at a giant DHL box on the floor. “That came for you.” 

“Oh?” Neil said after gulping some water. 

“Yes. Woke me up from my nap,” Andrew grumped. “I had to sign for it.” 

Neil huffed a laugh at the disgruntled look on Andrew’s face, and noticed that he had put his armbands on before coming downstairs. “If I make us second breakfast will that make up for it?” Neil asked as he tugged the oversized box closer. It was from Stuart. 

“Frittata?” Andrew said, perking up. 

“Anything,” Neil agreed. 

“With potatoes?” Andrew added hopefully. 

“Obviously,” Neil said. “There’s an avocado somewhere too.” 

“You are my favorite,” Andrew said into his coffee. 

“I’m your stomach’s favorite.” 

“That too.” 

Neil suppressed a grin and grabbed scissors to attack the box. Feeding people was _Neil’s_ favorite, but feeding Andrew - well. Nothing made him happier. When Neil had first been taken in by Stuart, it was how the Hatfords had taught Neil to love, how to be cared for. Eventually he’d come out of his awkward shell, sidling up next to a cousin or aunt in the kitchen, learning how to follow a recipe - and later how not to follow one, to tweak it to his taste. He could say the words now, say _I love you_ , but cooking for his people - _for Andrew_ \- that was what really meant something to him. 

Neil mentally ran through a list of what was in the fridge, what else he could throw in the frittata, as he cut the tape on the box and flipped the top flaps to find…“A karaoke machine?” 

Andrew peered down from his perch. “Huh,” he said. 

“But why?” Neil moaned. This had to be a joke. Stuart sent a present every year on his birthday - something practical like a stand mixer, or new sheets, or (unfortunately, one year) a fucking Maserati. _This_ was not practical. “What am I supposed to do with a karaoke machine?” 

“Sing into it,” Andrew deadpanned. 

Neil threw him a glare. “On second thought maybe there aren’t any potatoes to put in the frittata,” Neil mused. 

“Hey,” Andrew protested. 

“I might have lost that avocado too,” he said. 

“Neil.”

Neil laughed. He kissed Andrew’s grumpy cheek. He made a frittata, with potatoes and avocado and onions and swiss. He sliced one of the muffins too, toasted it and put a generous pat of butter on each half to counteract the dry. 

“I followed the recipe,” Andrew grumbled for the second time today as they finished their food. 

Neil leaned over and kissed him on the corner of his eyebrow and didn’t say a word about sifting flour. 

***

“It’s _orange,”_ Neil said, delight coloring his voice as he ran his fingers along the pristine paint job. 

“Hold still,” Andrew said from behind him, before loosening Neil’s messy bun and coiling it back up again at his nape so he could settle a helmet carefully onto his head. 

“You bought me a scooter for my birthday?” 

“A Vespa,” Andrew corrected. “If the Maz is gonna share the garage with a scooter, it has to be Italian.” 

“A Vespa,” Neil repeated, running his hand over the brown leather seat and along the chrome. It had a small license plate that read JOS10 and a tiny stylized fox on the front. Andrew grabbed one of his hands and plopped it on top of the helmet and - _oh._

“It has _ears?”_ Neil gasped. 

“Fox ears,” Andrew said, that blush of his turning his ears pink. 

“You bought me an orange scooter and a fox-eared helmet,” Neil said, a bit dumbfounded. He fucking loved it, he loved it so much, but it was _too_ much. “It’s too much Andrew,” he said. “It’s - how did you even - you can’t spend this much on me.” 

Andrew spun him around. “First of all-” he started, then stopped, and took the helmet off Neil, setting it on the seat of the Vespa. Neil got to actually see it and _oh my god_ it was the cutest goddamned helmet he’d ever seen. He started grinning. 

“I can’t talk to you with that thing on,” Andrew huffed. “First of all - it’s just as much for me as it is for you. I cannot survive another Neil Josten sprained ankle debacle. Next time you break yourself you can ride the Vespa instead of stupidly peddling your bike around campus with an injury.” 

“Yeah, but-” Neil started to protest, but Andrew put his hand over Neil’s mouth, cutting him off. 

“Second of all, I live in your house, drive your car, eat your food - and you won’t let me pay for any of it. I have no bills. So. I can afford to buy you a birthday present.” 

Neil started smiling under Andrew’s hand when he stepped closer, his eyes the darkest of amber in the low light of the garage. “Third of all, shut up,” Andrew murmured. And then he moved his hand and kissed him, and Neil shut up and kissed him back. 

***

Kevin and Jeremy showed up when Neil had just started putting dinner together. Jeremy was in his wheelchair, which meant his rheumatoid arthritis was being particularly shitty today. Most days he didn’t need the chair, but Neil had installed a ramp to his front door and widened all of the doorways on the first floor anyway.

Neil had just laid out the fresh pasta to cure and set Andrew to grating the parmesan, when Jeremy rolled into the kitchen, a shit eating grin on his face. “Happy birthday!” he crowed. 

Kevin strolled in behind him. “FYI Jeremy is high as fuck,” he said drily, dropping what looked like a half ounce of weed rolled up in a baggie onto the counter before wrapping an arm around Neil to pull him close. “Happy birthday,” he said into Neil’s hair. “Jeremy messed up the proportions making his edibles, and I have now banned him from our kitchen.” 

Neil snorted. “I’ve got you.” He washed his hands and pulled out one of the pitchers of sangria he’d made ahead of time, handing it off to Kevin. “Pour the drinks and I’ll get this started so you have something to take home tonight.” 

“Thank you,” Kevin murmured, rolling his eyes fondly as he watched his boyfriend unsuccessfully try to steal pinches of cheese from Andrew’s pile. 

Neil pulled out his crockpot and set if for low. He measured the coconut oil and scraped it in to start melting, and then weighed out the right amount of weed on his little scale before chopping up the buds to a fine consistency and adding them into the oil. In an hour or two the combo would make the whole house smell like weed popcorn, but by the end of the night Neil would have a jar to send home with Jeremy, and Neil could keep a second jar to make him some cookies tomorrow. Neil was happy to do it; the pot oil made a huge difference in Jeremy’s pain levels on a daily basis, and Neil was the best at getting the potency right.

Once he had the crockpot all set, Neil swooped over and stole a small handful of cheese to dump in Jeremy’s delighted hand. 

“We don’t need all of it for dinner,” Neil said. 

“Says you,” Andrew disagreed. 

“What’s for dinner?” Kevin asked, stealing a pinch of cheese himself while Andrew was distracted with his drink. 

“Fettuccine alfredo and barbacoa tacos,” Neil announced, lifting the lid off the pressure cooker where the barbacoa was simmering. 

“That’s random,” Kevin said. 

“If by random you mean delicious, then yes,” Andrew said. 

“They’re my favorites,” Neil said with a small shrug. “I asked Andrew to help me pick, and he said make both.” 

“Both is good,” Jeremy agreed, laughing when Andrew batted his hand away from the cheese again. 

“Stuart sent Neil a karaoke machine,” Andrew said innocently. 

“Goddamned it Andrew,” Neil glared at him over the red cabbage he was shredding now for the tacos. 

“Karaoke machine?” Kevin said, his eyes lighting up. 

Neil sighed. “And there it is. Thank you _so_ much.” 

Andrew just smirked.

***

Kevin was incredibly good at karaoke. This was not new information, as he’d dragged them more than once to Friday night Karaoke at Mitch’s Tavern, but Neil just really hadn’t woken up that morning expecting to be subjected to the musical stylings of Kevin Day in his own living room. 

Margot and Iggy had thoroughly enjoyed the unboxing of the damned thing, leaping in and out of the cardboard and pouncing on the bubble wrap, but Margot hightailed it from the room when Kevin started singing a couple of test notes into the microphone. 

“Everyone’s a critic,” Kevin said, adjusting the volume while Jeremy giggled at him uncontrollably from the couch, a heated blanket over his propped-up legs and Iggy settled smugly in his lap. 

Neil had opened presents from Kevin and Jeremy after dinner - a boxed set of Wes Anderson DVDs from Kevin for some reason, and some homemade vanilla in a pretty bottle from Jeremy - and shown off his Vespa, garnering the appropriate _ooohhhs_ and _ahhhhhs._ Neil had kissed Andrew’s ear on the way back into the house, murmuring another _thank you_ for his present. 

Now, Neil sat on the floor between Andrew’s knees, lightly buzzed on sangria as Andrew’s clever fingers combed through his hair, untangling his auburn waves idly while Kevin serenaded them with _Wicked Game_ and _Jessie’s Girl_ and _Landslide._

Kevin had a lovely tenor, and he was happy - which was good - and no one was making Neil sing - which was also good.

Or, it _was_ good until Kevin wrapped up his fourth song, a rather passionate rendition of _The Way You Look Tonight_ that had elicited a flush on Jeremy’s face.

“Okay someone else,” Kevin announced with a flourish, pointing the microphone at Neil. “Birthday boy,” he said. “You’re up.” 

“Hell no,” Neil shook his head. “You can’t make me. Andrew will go.” 

“I will not,” Andrew said, tugging on Neil’s hair in retaliation. 

“Oh come on. Neither of you ever sing on karaoke night. It’s just us four here, what do you have to lose?” 

“My dignity,” Neil muttered. 

“Oh?” Kevin said arching an eyebrow. “Dignity is it? Should I tell Andrew and Jeremy about our second date when _mnhhppppp-”_ Neil leapt to his feet, slapping a hand over Kevin’s mouth and tackling him to the ground, sending Jeremy into a fit of laughter again. 

“FINE I will sing if you promise to never _ever_ finish that sentence,” Neil said, and Kevin nodded enthusiastically from underneath Neil and Neil glared at him for good measure. “Asshole,” Neil said, before getting up. 

He took the mic and frowned at the machine. On what planet he had to do this on his own birthday, he didn’t know. The machine was a fancy one, hooked up to their TV but with its own little touch computer screen attached to the speaker and an incomprehensible number of songs listed, which could be browsed by genre, year, or artist. Stuart must have spent a fortune on this thing. Neil didn’t know why he was surprised. 

“Any requests? Whatever I sing it’s going to be awful, so just - don’t pick something you don’t want me to ruin for you.” 

“Oh I’m sure you aren’t that bad,” Jeremy said with a glowing smile. 

Neil pointed at him. “You are sunshine personified Jeremy Knox, and you are very wrong. Fuck it, let’s do this. Song?” 

Andrew sighed and got up from his chair, ran a finger down the screen for a few moments, then punched one decisively. “This one,” he said, sitting back down with a satisfied look on his face. 

“Oh god, really? You’re going to regret this. So much,” Neil said, then steeled himself. 

The first bars of music came on, followed by motorcycle sounds, and Kevin started laughing. Neil cleared his throat. The lyrics came on the screen in front of him. He sighed so forlornly that it set Jeremy off into giggles again, and then, and then...he sang. 

Neil Abram Josten was incredibly good at a great many things. Cooking, for one. Languages - he spoke five of them fluently and could read several more. He could run very fast, and he was good on a bike too. He had impeccable handwriting, and - if Andrew’s moans were anything to go by - he was quite good at giving blow jobs. He was not, however, good at singing. The notes never came out how he’d expect them to, wobbling out of his grasp and laughing at him from the other side of that illusive idea of being _on key._

But. It was his birthday, this was his fancy karaoke machine, and his boyfriend wanted him to sing _this song._

 _“And I would do anything for love.”_

He wailed the first line. It definitely sounded like wailing even to his ears. 

_“I’d run right into hell and back.”_

“Oh my god,” Jeremy whispered, staring at him dumbfounded. 

Neil turned his glare on him, mentally retracting his sunshine thoughts. 

_“I would do anything for love, I’d never lie to you and that’s a fact.”_

His accent did something complicated when he sang, becoming less and less _British_ and more and more _Yiddish._ Kevin started laughing. Neil flipped him off, and plowed on. 

_“But I’ll never forget the way you feel right now, oh no. No way.”_

He glanced at Andrew then, and almost stumbled over the next words when he saw the rapt look on his boyfriend’s face. Neil grinned, and put some volume into the next lines. 

_“And I would do anything for love. But I won’t do that. No I won’t do that.”_

“That’s my man,” Andrew said, proud. Neil felt warm from his head to his toes, and he cheekily plopped down on Andrew’s lap, butchering the next words of the song since he couldn’t see the screen anymore. He didn’t really care, and after another missed line he tossed the mic on the floor and kissed Andrew loudly and messily. 

“You aren’t finished!” Kevin protested. He’d tucked himself under Jeremy’s legs on the couch and was massaging Jeremy’s calves carefully. 

“Literally no one wants to hear me sing the rest of that song,” Neil said, still perched on Andrew’s lap. 

_“Really_ not a good enough reason to use the word ‘literally’ and you used it wrong anyway,” Andrew said, and Neil kissed him again to shut him up. “You should know better,” he said when Neil pulled back. “Aren’t you like, a PhD in linguistics?” 

“I literally am,” Neil agreed, and Andrew groaned and kissed _him_ this time. 

“I want to sing,” Jeremy said, interrupting them. 

“You want to do it from there?” Neil asked, crawling off of Andrew to recover the mic and hand it to him.

“Yup,” Jeremy said. “You two are being mushy, I want to be mushy too.”

Andrew looked offended. “I have never been mushy a day in my life,” he scoffed.

“Mushy,” Jeremy said again, pointing the mic at him. “You are made of mush Andrew Minyard. You forget I lived with you for years, and I _know_ things.” 

Andrew held up a hand in surrender. “Fine, fine. Way too many people know way too many things about each other in this room.”

Jeremy smirked at him and Andrew flipped him off. “Wouldn’t It Be Nice, by the Beach Boys,” Jeremy said, turning back to Neil. “If you please, maestro.”

Jeremy had a pleasant voice, rumbly and low and _on key,_ and he sang every damn lyric straight at Kevin. It was adorable and soft and wonderful and Kevin hung on every word, the dopiest smile on his face. Watching them, something uncomplicated and warm spread in Neil’s chest. 

When Jeremy was done Kevin crawled over and kissed him soundly, dislodging a grumpy Iggy in the process. Iggy leapt down and wandered off to join Margot on the cat tree, and Neil settled back on the floor, content to let Jeremy and Kevin pass the mic back and forth for a few more songs while Andrew plaited little braids in his hair. 

Kevin badgered Andrew several more times to try to get him to sing, but he just grunted at him and refused. It was another hour - and a couple more sangrias each - before Jeremy’s eyelids were drooping, and Kevin announced that they were going home. 

“Are you sure you don’t just, want to take the karaoke machine home with you?” Neil tried as Kevin was sliding into his coat. 

“Nope, it can live here and we will make Saturday nights the new karaoke night at your house.” 

Neil frowned. “Thanks, I hate it,” he said. Kevin huffed a laugh and hugged him tightly, and Neil buried his face into Kevin’s shoulder and sighed. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Wouldn’t have been anywhere else,” Kevin said with an extra squeeze. Jeremy yawned loudly and waved sleepily at Neil and Andrew, his other hand curled protectively around the mason jar of pot oil in his lap, and then they were gone. 

“Good birthday?” Andrew asked, leading Neil back into the living room by his wrist. 

“Yeah,” Neil said. He plopped down on the couch and tried to pull Andrew with him, but Andrew held up a finger. 

“Wait, just. Stay there.” 

“More birthday?” Neil hummed. “There can’t possibly be more birthday.” 

Andrew raised an eyebrow and went to the karaoke machine. He poked at the screen, and Neil thought for a minute he was going to turn it off, but then he tapped something decisively and picked up the microphone and looked up into Neil’s eyes and _holy shit._

There was music and there was Andrew and he was singing. 

_“I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night. Rough on the surface but you cut through like a knife.”_

It should have been silly, Andrew at the karaoke machine singing Taylor Swift to him. 

But it wasn’t. 

Because holy fucking shit Andrew could sing. 

He could really, _really_ sing. 

Andrew’s voice rolled through Neil’s veins molten and soft, curling every nerve in his body, melting him into the couch and remaking him all at once, pinned in place by Andrew’s honeyed words and amber eyes. 

_“Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind. Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in.”_

“How,” Neil whispered, but Andrew just shook his head at him and kept going. 

_“The more you say, the less I know, wherever you stray, I follow.”_

“I-” Neil shut up when Andrew started walking towards him, straddled him, and dropped the microphone to the couch to sing the last lines softly in his ear. 

_“...take my hand, wreck my plans, that’s my man.”_

Andrew pulled back to look at Neil’s face as the music faded and Neil thought that maybe he could fold this moment up and tuck it away in his pocket and feast on it for the rest of his life.

“Fuck. Me,” Neil breathed. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the idea,” Andrew smirked, and then he wrapped a hand in Neil’s hair, and kissed him. 

“Where can I touch you?” Neil managed to gasp out around Andrew’s lips and teeth and tongue, his hands hovering in the air. 

“Anywhere, everywhere,” Andrew said huskily, firmly, and Neil groaned as Andrew pushed him down on the couch, as he rucked up Neil’s shirt to press greedy palms to his abs, as he slid a knee between Neil’s thighs. 

Breathless, Neil slipped his hands under Andrew’s shirt, traced the apex of his hips, clutched at his waist, catalogued his ribs, journeyed along shoulder blades - seeking out warm skin and reveling in it.

Andrew started to kiss his way down Neil’s neck, but Neil shook his head, tugged at Andrew’s hair until he looked up, those glorious eyes blown open just for Neil.

“What?” 

“Want you to stay up here, keep kissing me.” 

“I can do that,” Andrew hummed, and he licked his way back into Neil’s mouth, and Neil hitched his leg around Andrew’s hip, buzzing warm and happy under Andrew’s weight. 

Andrew pushed at his side, and Neil lifted a little so Andrew could pull his shirt up and off, disheveling all his little braids and flipping them into his face. Neil laughed - a quiet, shaky, wrecked sound - as Andrew brushed them out of his eyes, tucked them behind his ears, kissed along his jaw, and then bit Neil’s lower lip gently until he opened for him, and Andrew was kissing him again. 

Neil’s world spun like a record around Andrew’s lips, around Andrew’s hands insistent on Neil’s skin, hungry fingertips tracing his scars, slipping lower, dipping under the waistband of Neil’s jeans, deftly undoing the button and sliding down the zipper. 

“Mn’andrew,” Neil mumbled, arching up with a moan when Andrew palmed him over his boxers. 

“Blow you?” Andrew kissed the question into the corner of Neil’s mouth. 

“Yes,” Neil managed, but then he whimpered in protest as Andrew started to kiss his way down his chest. 

Andrew lifted up, raised an amused eyebrow at him. “My mouth can’t be in two places at one time junkie.” 

“Well that’s just disappointing.”

“Disappointing my ass,” Andrew huffed, and he surged up and kissed Neil, slipping his boxers down to wrap a hand around his dick, and yeah, _yeah,_ there was nothing about this that was disappointing. 

Later - after Andrew had done his level best to get his mouth all the places Neil wanted, after Neil had crawled over Andrew and wrecked him too, after they had made out languidly in the shower and put on clean sweats - Neil curled up in Andrew’s arms in the middle of their bed, sated and warm and happy as he ran his hand along Iggy’s spine in time to his purring. 

Neil burrowed closer to Andrew and sighed contentedly. “You sang for me,” he said. 

“I did.” 

“I liked it.” 

“I noticed,” Andrew said drily. 

“You’re really good.” 

Andrew hummed noncommittally. 

“Why did I not know that?” 

“You never asked.” 

“Asshole.” 

Andrew kissed the top of his head. Neil yawned. Andrew had his glasses on, a book in his lap, and Margot on his shoulders. Her tail twitched against Neil’s ear. 

Neil closed his eyes. “Would you sing for me again?” he asked sleepily. 

He was just drifting off, having given up on an answer, when very quietly Andrew’s velvet voice wrapped around him, soft and loving and only for Neil. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr - [justadreamfox](https://justadreamfox.tumblr.com/)


End file.
